


double vision

by sketchedsmiles



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Explicit Language, Hoshiumi is a beer pong king, M/M, Miscommunication, Miya Osamu-centric, background sakuatsu, everyone is dumb and stupid and gay, yes I am projecting my college experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28596936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchedsmiles/pseuds/sketchedsmiles
Summary: Most of Miya Osamu’s time at university is dedicated towards his schoolwork in the hopes that he’ll be able to open up the onigiri business of his dreams. He doesn’t have time for any distractions—except for one Suna Rintarou.His relationship with Suna is tenuous at best. Every encounter happens by chance, and they never see each other for longer than ten minutes at a time. Oh—and Suna thinks he’s someone else, but that’s a minor blip.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 68
Kudos: 402
Collections: SunaOsa, SunaOsa Fics





	double vision

**Author's Note:**

> yes, i've projected my college experience into 18k of sunaosa stupidity. no, i don't want to talk about it.

The combination of poor-quality dining hall food, tedious morning lectures, and a cramped shared double dorm room with the one person he was forced to share  _ everything  _ with had brought Osamu to one conclusion and one conclusion only: he needed a break. 

The first week of his third year at Inarizaki University had come to its end, and the never-ending pile of exams and assignments continued to build with each lecture he attended and each professor he met. When he looked at his calendar, the sheer number of due dates sent his head spinning with a migraine. It was too much. Everything about university was too much, yet he came running back each semester ready to endure another round of looming deadlines and extreme academic pressure. 

At least he came out each semester with a decent set of grades to show for it. Osamu considered himself as close to the ideal student he could become: he rarely—if ever—missed classes, he took charge in group projects when it came apparent that he was the only one there who actually gave a shit, he didn’t leave his hair in the drain, and he spent most hours cooped up in his dorm, trying to catch up on all of his assignments. This was—admittedly—a low bar to reach, but his twin somehow missed it.

Atsumu was the very definition of what Osamu would call a  _ terrible student _ . So much that he purposely made sure  _ not  _ to pick any of the same classes as his twin. He suffered enough of his presence to go forth the extra mile and expose himself to that torture. Atsumu spent an awful amount of time calculating how many assignments he could not submit in order to still pass the class, and his evenings on the weekends were spent at various parties across campus, hosted by someone in his tentative string of social connections. His mornings were spent miserable and hungover, but the cycle started up again when the sun set and he received another invitation to go out. 

It wasn’t that Atsumu didn’t care for the academic side of university. It was that he cared much less than Osamu, and still often managed to beat him in terms of grades. That grated on Osamu more than anything else. He’d considered several times rooming with someone else over the years, but the gentle reminder from his mother that he and Atsumu had been sharing a room since they were born and that Atsumu could easily fly off the handle if he didn’t have anyone around to mind him had Osamu sucking it up.

Theoretically, he could end up with a roommate that went through his belongings and vomited on their floor (as taken from one of the many roommate horror stories he’d scrolled through when he’d truly debated whether it was worth it to find a new roommate). Atsumu—for all his whining and brattiness and inconsistency—had become a constant for Osamu over the years, and he would never admit it out loud, but there had been many instances at university when homesickness had clouded his senses, and Atsumu had been the one to ward it off. 

So—he had decided to share a double dorm with Atsumu. Again. In their third year of university, because Osamu had made the foolish decision of trusting Atsumu with the housing selection process, and instead of splurging out on an apartment with separate bedrooms, Atsumu had waited too long, and this had been their only option. 

The sun remained high in the sky, just visible past the line of clouds as the clock struck three in the afternoon, and the warm air accompanied Osamu the entire trek back to his dorm building. He muttered to himself as he fished his key card out of his bag, pulled open the heavy side door, and started the climb up the stairs.

In his mind, he created a list of all his most urgent tasks. It was Friday, the start to his first weekend back on campus, but he would be lucky if he spent more than a few hours outside. There were assignments and readings already begging for his attention, and unlike Atsumu, he couldn’t be productive unless he dictated a certain amount of time to his coursework. 

He wished he could turn his brain off like Atsumu. Not all the time. That would be a disaster. One of them had to be able to think straight, and it certainly wasn’t going to be Atsumu. But it would be nice if he could look at his planner without feeling like the world was about to end. If he could turn his brain off for a few hours, he’d be able to join his brother on one of his outings without guilt pressing down on his chest. Just yesterday, Atsumu had gone out with someone on their floor, and he didn’t return back until one, grumbling and toppling into his own bed. It would be nice if he could unwind like that. 

Osamu scowled as he reached the final set of stairs that brought him to the third floor—because on top of everything else, Atsumu had to reserve the room on the highest floor of the one building without an elevator. His thighs would be toned after this year was over, at least. But right now, they ached, unused to the exertion despite the fact that Osamu climbed up and down these stairs twice a day. 

His legs guided him mindlessly to his dorm room, the 37 flashing above his eyeline. It took him a while to rummage through his bag in search of his room keys. The insides were packed with loose-leaf papers and sticks of gum and mints, and his fingers struggled to find his lanyard. He became so engrossed in his search that he didn’t pick up on the sound of footsteps approaching until they stopped right beside him.

“Miya.” The drawl came out in a low, bored voice that was unfamiliar to Osamu. 

He paused long enough to lift his head. The student that stood a foot away felt vaguely familiar to Osamu, in the way that strangers you recognized from a distance felt familiar. Every single one of his pointed features fell into a flat expression framed by dark hair pulled into a middle part. His stare was unnerving, even if there wasn’t any malice in it. There was something about his gaze that was so direct that it sent chills down Osamu’s spine. 

Yet he’d referred to Osamu by name. It made Osamu drag his gaze up and down the other student as he tried to place where he had seen him before. University was strange in the sense that all students were joined together in solidarity in the mutual pain that higher education offered. Even if you met someone once, the next time you crossed paths, they spoke to you as if you were best friends since childhood. It was possible that he’d seen this guy in one of his classes or that they’d met at orientation way back when. Whatever the case, even as Osamu squinted, he couldn’t remember. It was embarrassing that this guy referred to him by name when Osamu couldn’t even recall when they’d met. 

“Hello,” Osamu greeted. His gaze followed each movement as the stranger stuck his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. Upon his second look, Osamu couldn’t help but think that he was attractive in an understated way. “What’s up?”

“I left my phone here during the pregame yesterday,” he said, inclining his head towards the door to their room. “Can I have it?”

Now that he spoke more, Osamu realized that this stranger was definitely not from around here. He didn’t share their dialect. And—Osamu had no idea what he was talking about. “Uh, sure.” Osamu peered into his bag again. “Lemme find my keys.”

The addition of this stranger’s expectant stare made the search more hurried, and Osamu let out a sigh in relief when his fingers finally grasped the cool metal of his keys. He had started to worry that he’d have to call Atsumu, and that would’ve been a show of embarrassment that he’d rather avoid. Pushing his bag aside, Osamu jammed the key into the lock until it turned and there was a familiar  _ click _ . 

Osamu held the door open a second for the stranger to pass through. It wasn’t until Osamu turned around that he had to hold back a wince. Their dorm room was a mess. Normally, the two of them could be counted upon to contain their belongings to their side, but their personal things hadn’t been organized due to the rush of the first week. Atsumu’s bed was left unmade, a collection of shot glasses were arranged haphazardly across the desk, and several textbooks were strewn across the room. The curtains hadn’t even been drawn in the morning hurry; it was pitch-black until Osamu flicked on the light switch and let the door swing shut behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” he said. It didn’t matter if he had no idea who this guy was. He almost wanted to melt into the nearest laundry pile and disappear. “Uh—do ya know where ya left yer phone?”

The stranger knelt down at the left desk—the one that belonged to Atsumu. He pushed a few of the shot glasses aside and lifted one of the textbooks Atsumu had rented from the library yesterday. Sure enough, there was a sleek mobile phone hidden beneath. “Here it is,” he said, though there was little enthusiasm in it. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Osamu dropped his bag at the other desk. Unlike Atsumu’s, the surface was cluttered with far more textbooks that he had to rifle through. “Didja need anythin’ else?”

Part of him wanted to offer something to drink or eat, which was ridiculous because he was on as much of a budget as this stranger was. He didn’t have a fund that kept him here at university. All of his extra cash from his summer jobs went towards his housing and tuition. If he ever ordered take out, it was sparingly in order to make his expenses last. He certainly didn’t have much to offer besides room-temperature water. 

But if he was being honest, this stranger was growing more attractive the longer Osamu looked at him, and he wasn’t immune to the waves of desire that dominated the lives of most university students. If he had to make a fool of himself in order to hold onto this company a little longer, he wasn’t opposed to it. 

“Nah.” The stranger straightened, and Osamu tried his best to quell the disappointment that flooded over him. “I’m good. I’ll see you around.”

Just like that, a kernel of hope had been planted, and he watched the stranger leave with bright eyes.  _ I’ll see you around  _ implied a later conversation, didn’t it? Sure, it could be the polite way to dismiss another person, but there was a level of certainty to the phrase that made it more like a definite.

In any case, if he did wind up seeing him again, he could ask for his name. 

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> hiya you wanna grab dinner together
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> be there in a second.

Osamu tore himself away from his readings long enough to head to the dining hall across the street. It was the one spot on campus he frequented most due to its near proximity, and each day like clockwork, he found a new complaint to make about its quality of food. He couldn’t help it. He purposely chose to study business management in the hopes of starting his own restaurant one day dedicated to the onigiri he still hadn’t perfected. It was natural for him to be picky about what he ate, and the standards for campus dining hit an all-time low. 

But…he had paid for his meal plan in full. It would be a waste to not take advantage of the unlimited swipes he had on his card. 

When he ambled into the main dining area, he spotted Atsumu seated at the edge of one of the long rows of tables, his brows furrowed as he picked through his rice. Osamu joined the end of the line and selected his meal buffet-style, spooning portions of whatever looked most edible onto his plate. He settled down with his bowl of ochazuke in front of Atsumu.

“Stop makin’ that face,” Osamu ordered as he clambered into the seat. 

“I’m not makin’ a face,” Atsumu muttered as he continued to curl his lips. Osamu supposed this was his fault. After all the years of falling in love with food, his tendencies to nitpick at the quality of a meal had rubbed off on Atsumu. “How was yer day?”

“Fine,” Osamu said. He picked up his chopsticks and started in on his meal, trying to dispel any thoughts that he could’ve made this better with the same ingredients and supplies. “Ya know how the beginning of the semester is. It’s annoyin’. Overwhelmin’. What about ya? How were yer classes today?”

“Not bad.” Atsumu shrugged. “I’m tryin’ not to think so much about all of the projects I’ll have due later on. Just gonna enjoy the free time I have now.”

Osamu resisted the urge to scowl. Instead, he kept his gaze trained down at his bowl. He wished he had the ability to turn his brain away from his schoolwork like that. Sometimes, he really did envy it. “How was last night?”

Normally, Atsumu didn’t go out during the week. He could go play a three-on-three game of volleyball or spend his afternoons at one of the free movie showings on campus, but nights that he went out drinking were reserved for the weekends. Although, it  _ was  _ the first week. If there was any time to let loose when the consequences would be minimal, it was now. Still, Osamu had been surprised when Atsumu had stumbled in at one, reeking of beer and not even having the sense to change clothes before crawling beneath his covers and dozing off. 

For a split second, Atsumu’s shoulders tensed before relaxing again. “Last night was fun,” he said. “I didn’t expect to be out so late, but we wound up jumpin’ around between parties.”

“Why?”

“Uh—I was lookin’ for someone.”

Osamu’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

Atsumu returned his challenge head on. “None of yer business. Anyway, ya should come out with us sometime. The books are still gonna be there when ya get back.”

Osamu knew that. But he wasn’t born with the natural ability to excel in school regardless of the amount of time he spent studying. No, that was Atsumu’s field of expertise. Sure, he could go out and dedicate the same time to studying as Atsumu did, but Atsumu would wind up with the better grades in the end, and Osamu was unwilling to fall behind—especially when his future business hinged so much on his academic records. 

Atsumu still didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. He studied biology because according to him, science made sense, but anything beyond the walls of a classroom became empty space to him. He’d once considered studying business like Osamu, until he flicked through the pages of one of Osamu’s introduction textbooks. That possibility had died as quickly as it had been born.

“Maybe,” Osamu said because that was better than admitting to a flat-out  _ no.  _ “I spend enough time with ya as it is. I don’t exactly need to follow ya ‘round durin’ the weekends too.”

Atsumu scoffed. “I was just offerin’! No need to get all defensive ‘bout it.”

“I’m not bein’ defensive.”

“Yeah, ya are. I know ya always get stressed the first week of the semester, but  _ damn.  _ Don’t chew my head off about it. Take easier classes.”

Osamu set down his chopsticks to take a sip of water. “I can’t do that,” he said, reaching for his napkin. “All of my required classes are hard. We’re in our third year, Tsumu. Everything just gets worse from here on out.”

Atsumu shrugged, as if it was no big deal. “Maybe,” he allowed. “That’s why ya should relax now. When ya graduate, yer gonna start workin’ right away, aren’t ya? Isn’t it better to take a breather now?”

Maybe. If he could afford to. Instead of answering, he spent the next few minutes eating passive-aggressive bites of his rice. 

Atsumu took out his phone and started scrolling through his social media. If this were anyone else, Osamu would be annoyed considering they were meant to be eating  _ together _ . The least his brother could do was endure his meager complaints for an hour. 

“Ugh,” Atsumu said after Osamu had finished his bowl and started peeling his apple into small slices. “That reminds me. Suna left his phone in our room yesterday. Damn it. I have to bring it to him.”

The mention of the forgotten cell phone reminded Osamu of the mysterious stranger, and he paused long enough to raise an eyebrow. “Tall, skinny, looks like he hasn’t slept in three days?”

“Ya do realize you just described yerself, right?”

Osamu glared at him. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Atsumu said. “That sounds like Suna. Why?”

“Someone came by when I got home from classes and asked to grab his phone.” Osamu stuffed the first slice into his mouth. “So ya don’t have to worry ‘bout that.”

Atsumu tucked his phone away, watching Osamu with a pained expression. “You mean ya just let him in? What if he was a burglar?”

Osamu nearly choked on the peel at the absurdity of the question. “What the fuck is he meant to rob from us?” he demanded. “Yer fuckin’ tourist Tokyo shot glasses? We don’t even have a TV, Tsumu.”

Atsumu let that sink in before dropping his chin against his chest. “Yer right,” he said. “Fine. Ya make a fair point. Though I wouldn’t put it past Suna to take somethin’ just to mess with me.”

He could now put a name to the face. Suna. Suna—who was apparently friends with Atsumu. The possibility of a second chance encounter grew more likely by the second, and it was almost embarrassing how excited that made Osamu. It wasn’t like he knew anything about Suna—except that he had a nice face. But, for all of Atsumu’s flaws, he didn’t actually have the worst taste in friends. If Atsumu hung out with him, he was likely a decent person. 

“That’s his name? Suna?”

“Suna Rintarou,” Atsumu drawled. “I don’t see him much. He lives on our floor, but we only ever hang out at parties. I, like, never see the guy when I’m sober. We pre-gamed together before we headed out last night. He’s pretty cool.”

“Mmm.” Osamu made a noncommittal sound. Half of him wanted to pester Atsumu with more questions, but the other half didn’t want to give Atsumu any reason to suspect of his stupid little crush. If it could even be called a crush. Could a crush exist simply on the basis of physical appearance? Whatever. It would be safer to switch the topic, even if his gut yearned to learn more. “Are ya headed out again tonight then?”

“Yeah. With Gin this time.” Ginjima was the only other person Osamu recognized by name on their floor, not including their RA—Kita Shinsuke. Osamu had shared a seminar with Gin back in their first year, and the two had hit it off well. If he had to create a list of his closest friends at Inarizaki University, Gin would be on it. “Don’t expect me back early.”

“Sleep on the side of the road for all I care,” Osamu shot back. He’d have to remind himself to message Atsumu around midnight to check in. No matter what he said out loud, Atsumu knew he wouldn’t sleep well until he was sure Atsumu was somewhere safe. “Just try not to wake me up.”

“I didn’t wake ya up yesterday.”

“You did, actually.”

“That’s not my fault. I was super quiet.”

“Quiet like a fuckin’ elephant, maybe.”

Even as Atsumu glowered, Osamu basked in this small moment in time before stress caught up with him. It didn’t matter what university threw at him. So long as Atsumu was around to remain as constant as ever, that would always bring Osamu some comfort. 

* * *

The Fukurodani Café was one of the only spots on campus that met Osamu’s high standards for food quality. Whenever he could, whenever he felt like braving the outdoors in order to trek up the hill from his dorm building to the historic library that faced the center of campus, he stopped by to grab a coffee or a sandwich. Most of his spare hours were spent on the library’s upper floors, which meant that he was around more often than most students. It had gotten to the point where he knew most of the baristas by name, and they recognized his face, even if they couldn’t memorize his order. (Osamu changed it often, anyway.)

Part of his meal plan entailed points that were redeemable at all of the small cafés across campus, and it was rare that he came close to using all of them. There were so many that no matter how many times Osamu used them, he still had a large chunk leftover. And because universities were cash cows, none of those points rolled over for use in the next semester. 

But damn it, Osamu paid for those points. He’d use them as much as he could. 

So, after he’d pulled on jeans and a clean long-sleeved shirt, he’d told Atsumu he was heading out. He’d pushed the black cap he always wore over his dark hair and shut the door behind him, ignoring Atsumu’s mumble to bring him something back for lunch. 

Thankfully, most university students took Atsumu’s lead over the weekends. Saturdays were the days to stay up late and sleep in. The library was nearly vacant when he stepped inside, empty except for the spare student thrown across one of the lounge chairs that decorated the entrance path, and Osamu crossed all the way to the other side where the café stood. 

There were only two other people in line, despite the fact that it was lunch time. Osamu joined the back of the queue and took out his ID card while surveying the large selection of baked goods, bento boxes, and fruits available for his choosing. If anything, he really wanted a shot of caffeine to push him through the day’s workload. 

“Hey, Osamu,” Bokuto Koutarou called out from behind the register. It didn’t matter that he was in the middle of assisting another customer. He had a smile to share with Osamu regardless, and he even waved from his position in case Osamu had missed his greeting. “Nice to see you again!”

Osamu offered a weary smile of his own. After he had his coffee, he might be able to give one that felt more genuine. “Hey, Bokuto-san.” 

There were only two customers in front of him, which meant the line should move quickly. Besides Bokuto, there were two other baristas behind the counter. There was Akaashi Keiji, who was Osamu’s age and—like him—seemed permanently fatigued with exhaustion. He was left in charge of heating up sandwiches and pouring soups into paper bowls. The other barista was Konoha Akinori, who handled most of the drink orders and bagged the baked goods. Everyone operated at a slower pace than usual due to the time and lack of customers. It was a different scene whenever Osamu came during the week and it was the rush hour.

With his other hand, Osamu scrolled through all of his missed text messages while he waited. There were only a few—most were from Atsumu after Osamu had fallen asleep. 

“Miya.”

Osamu turned around to find Suna standing behind him in line, and an involuntary jolt overcame his body as he processed that he was seeing Suna Rintarou for the second time in over two days. His eyes looked sleepier than usual, his slouch more prominent than it had been the day before, and he looked even less presentable than Osamu, dressed in a sweatshirt with a hole in the right elbow. But even then, Osamu’s heart raced a little faster. 

“Hi,” Osamu greeted, lifting his phone in a mock salute. “How are ya?”

Suna’s eyes narrowed for the briefest of moments before he sidled up to Osamu’s position in line. Their shoulders brushed, and it took everything Osamu had not to make an audible noise. 

“Buy me lunch,” Suna demanded. “You owe me for last night, brat.” 

There was a taunt coating each of the words. It was as if he was daring Osamu to do it for a reason Osamu couldn’t name. He had no idea what Suna was talking about. Last night? Last night, he’d been eating butter chips in bed while watching videos of people cooking tiny foods on YouTube. 

He started to get the impression that he’d been wrong about Suna. His mocking tone forced Osamu to feel as though he’d done something terrible, putting Osamu beneath the microscope to inspect all of his flaws. He wondered if he and Suna had gotten off on the wrong foot somewhere.

He wanted to know how to fix it.

Well, he’d always believed that food was the best way to reach someone’s heart. Everyone liked to eat. 

“Sure,” Osamu said, gesturing towards the glass display. One of the customers had left, leaving them one spot away from the register. “Pick whatever ya want.”

Suna’s head snapped towards him so quickly that it almost gave Osamu whiplash. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

His lips flattened before twisting up into a devilish smile. “Alright.” 

Osamu understood immediately what his brother had meant when he’d mentioned that Suna might’ve stolen something from them for the sake of it. “Within reason,” Osamu added. “I’m not buyin’ ya enough food to last ya the week.”

Suna rolled his eyes. “ _ Fine _ .”

Konoha popped his head over the counter. He pushed his mop of hair out of his eyes before giving them his full attention. “What would you like?”

Osamu picked up one of the bento boxes. “I’ll take this. Can I have a coffee too, Konoha-san?”

“Got it.” Konoha’s gaze drifted towards Osamu’s right. “And for you?”

“A blueberry muffin,” Suna said. “And I’ll have a coffee too.”

“Sure.” Konoha bent to slide open the glass and take out Suna’s muffin. 

Behind him, Akaashi started on their coffees while Konoha’s focus was diverted elsewhere. The last customer flitted off with their own coffee in hand, and Osamu took a step in front of the register, where Bokuto graced them both with a gentle smile. He began tapping numbers into the keyboard. 

“So that’s…” Bokuto squinted. “Two coffees, a blueberry muffin, and…”

“This.” Osamu dropped the bento box he’d selected onto the counter and placed his student ID card beside it. 

Bokuto picked it up to scan it before dragging Osamu’s card across the reader. When the  _ ding  _ of the machine confirmed the order went through, Bokuto passed the card back. “Here you go,” he said. He picked up the bag with the muffin Konoha had set aside for Suna and handed it to Osamu. “Give Akaashi a second to finish your coffees.”

“That’s fine,” Osamu said. He gave the paper bag over to Suna, who peered inside with a delighted grin.

It didn’t take long. Within seconds, two steaming paper cups of coffee were arranged on the counter, and Osamu and Suna reached for their respective ones. Suna went over to the counter to the right of the register in order to add milk and sugar. Osamu remained next to Bokuto while he waited for Suna. 

He didn’t know if Suna intended on grabbing a seat or if he wanted to escape as soon as he’d mooched off Osamu for his lunch. Either way, it was polite to wait and see what happened. 

“Your brother came by yesterday between his classes,” Bokuto said. No one else had joined the line, leaving the baristas to wait aimlessly. “It almost gave me whiplash. I thought it was you at first.”

“Hah,” Osamu said. 

It wasn’t a rarity for the twins to be confused for the other. It happened numerous times, especially as they’d grown out of the sweaters they used to wear with their names on them as children. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. They  _ were  _ identical. But it was a tad annoying. The culmination of many mix-ups had resulted in the two of them dyeing their hair in high school so that others could tell them apart. In college, Atsumu was the only one to keep it up, wearing an even lighter blonde than before. Osamu had gone back to his natural color, though it was hardly exposed considering he wore a hat almost every day. 

Even now, he often encountered students that came up to him thinking he was Atsumu only to realize halfway through the conversation that Osamu had no recollection of their wild night or the lab assignment they had due tomorrow. Professors he’d never had gave him polite nods in the hallways, and Osamu could barely manage to acknowledge them before darting in the opposite direction. There had even been one instance in which Kita had scolded Osamu for leaving hair in the shower drain—even though it had undoubtedly been Atsumu who had done the crime. 

“Then I saw his blonde hair.” Bokuto pointed at his own spiky hair to emphasize the point. “And I realized it was your twin. I didn’t realize how alike the two of you look.”

“We are twins,” Osamu said, pushing a plastic lid over his coffee. “That’s how it works.”

Bokuto laughed as Suna rejoined Osamu. “Yeah, you’re right. See you around.”

“See you, Bokuto-san,” Osamu said, lifting his coffee in thanks. “Bye, Akaashi-kun and Konoha-san.”

The two other baristas murmured their farewells. For a moment, Osamu hesitated. He didn’t want to force Suna to spend time with him if he didn’t want to. He wanted this to feel natural. 

Thankfully, Suna made the choice for him. He strode over to one of the many open tables tucked into the corner of the café and sat down at one meant for two people. As Osamu slid into the seat across from him, Suna began unwrapping his muffin. 

“Thanks,” Suna said, breaking the silence first. 

“It’s no problem,” Osamu said. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have the points to spare. “I’m surprised yer awake this early.” If Suna had the tendency to stay out late like Atsumu, Osamu expected him to be in bed until two in the afternoon at least.

“I could say the same about you.” He broke off a portion of the muffin and stuck it into his open mouth. “You’re up earlier than expected.”

“I’ve got work to do.” Osamu opened up his bento box and drew out his chopsticks. He leaned close to take the first bite, only to freeze when he heard the sound of a camera flashing.

“Oops,” Suna said when Osamu lifted his head. He had his phone outstretched in his free hand, a hint of a smirk curling his lips. “I forgot to put my phone on vibrate. Ah, well. I need that for blackmail later.”

Osamu nearly choked.  _ Blackmail _ ? He knew that whatever mischief he’d noticed in Suna thus far was only the beginning. He must’ve had a streak without an end in sight. He wanted to curse his taste in love interests. If only he could have a crush on a sensible, logical person. Not a demon who bullied him into buying him food and snapped pictures of him when he wasn’t looking.

Osamu pouted. “Do ya really need that?”

“Oh, come on.” Suna flipped his phone over, and Osamu caught a glimpse of the picture. It wasn’t the most embarrassing snapshot of him ever. He regretted that Atsumu held that one saved across multiple devices. This photograph had been the perfect capture of surprise as Osamu’s eyes had flicked towards Suna’s through the camera. “It’s not that bad. I have worse.”

Osamu made a noncommittal noise and returned to his meal. He took a long sip of his coffee, savoring the scalding heat of the drink until it nearly burned his tongue. 

“You actually look quite nice today,” Suna continued. “You don’t look like a slob. It’s a good change.”

That was the most backhanded compliment Osamu had ever received. He almost didn’t know what to make of it. On one hand, Suna had called him a slob which was—rude. It was definitely rude. Osamu might not have cared as much about his appearance as Atsumu, who whined whenever Osamu dragged him out of the house before he was ready, but he didn’t appreciate being called a  _ slob _ . At least his clothes didn’t have a hole in them. 

But on the other hand, Suna had said that he’d looked nice. Maybe his standards had sunk so low that  _ that  _ was enough to make his insides warm—or maybe he was so desperate for Suna’s attention that he was willing to take whatever he could. If Suna thought he looked nice, then he’d take it. 

“I always look good,” Osamu grumbled.

For a moment, Suna faltered. It happened so quickly that Osamu wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it. Suna turned his head to the side. “Don’t go growing a big head now,” he said. 

Osamu smiled. It was barely there—and it was much too soft. This was progress. This was a step forward that he could work with. “With you around, Suna? Never.”

* * *

Those two chance encounters with Suna were brought about by complete luck. Atsumu hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he didn’t hang out with Suna outside of the weekend party scene, and even though they all lived on the same floor, a month passed before Osamu crossed paths with Suna again.

It had gotten to the point where he’d almost forgotten about Suna until Atsumu mentioned him in passing or he heard a set of footsteps in the hall, and he’d look up only to discover it was someone else passing by. Suna had become a distant memory as the rest of the semester kicked into gear, and more responsibilities were heaved onto Osamu’s shoulders. 

It wasn’t like he had much to occupy him outside of classes. His mornings were spent attending lectures; his afternoons were spent catching up on readings; his evenings were spent completing assignments and eating dinner—and if he had some time, he let Atsumu drag him out of their room to play a game of three-on-three volleyball with some of his friends. But besides that, every waking second Osamu had was dedicated towards studying, and thus, Suna receded to the recesses of his mind.

Even then, luck turned in his favor for once, and on his way out of the library, he spotted a familiar figure hanging by the front doors. He’d spent the last three hours tucked between a fifty-page reading that had required delicate note taking, so he blinked a few times to ensure he wasn’t seeing things. But no, the slouch and distinct style of hair were undeniably Suna. 

Osamu sidled up to him where Suna stood staring out through the glass doors. The clouds had darkened considerably since the early afternoon, and the rumble overhead warned of a storm that would last well into the night. Already, heavy rain littered the sidewalks, droplets splattering against the shoes of the students that rushed inside the library for cover. 

Osamu tried to hold back his sigh. He had an umbrella in his bag, but no matter how quickly he walked, there was no avoiding it: he was going to return home drenched. He rummaged through his bag in search of the one frail umbrella he had, the one that had a habit of flipping inside out on him on a good day and crumbling completely in his hands on a bad one.

“Hey, Suna,” he greeted. He dragged the hood of his sweatshirt up over his cap for extra protection. “Pretty wet out there, huh?”

“Yeah,” Suna answered without tearing his gaze from the sky. “I was hoping it would slow down enough for me to rush back to my dorm, but I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes already, and I think it’s only getting heavier.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna stop.” Osamu knew this for sure. He’d checked his weather app several times over the last hour before resigning himself to a cold walk home in the rain. “Don’t ya have an umbrella?”

“No,” Suna said, the word blunt. 

Atsumu was the same way. Every time he came home in the rain, tired and frustrated, Osamu ordered him to buy an umbrella, and every time, Atsumu refused. He stated that there was no purpose in buying something that would break under the force of the strong winds that surrounded their campus—and, well, he had a point. Osamu had gone through four umbrellas during his time at Inarizaki University.

His fingers wrapped around the handle of his umbrella, and Osamu tugged it out of his bag. “Are ya gonna wait? Or do ya want to share my umbrella?”

Suna’s head whipped in Osamu’s direction. “Seriously?”

“We’re headed in the same direction anyway,” Osamu said with a shrug. “Fair warning: if the umbrella breaks halfway, it’s not my fault. I bought this cheap at the bookstore. Last week, it flipped inside out before crushing my fingers.”

Suna took an exaggerated step back. “In that case, you’ll hold the umbrella.” He paused. “But if you don’t mind, I would like to get back to my dorm before dinner. How big is it?”

“Not big at all,” Osamu said cheerfully. He was tempted to open it indoors to showcase it, but he didn’t want to test whatever luck he’d run into. “We’re definitely gonna get soaked. You in?”

Suna’s lips pressed together in consideration. Although he was skinnier than Osamu, he was taller by a few centimeters, meaning that it would be a tight fit. It wasn’t like sharing an umbrella with someone half his size. The umbrella struggled to cover Osamu on his own. Whenever Osamu tried sharing it with Atsumu, it never ended well either. But—the least he could do was offer. 

“Alright,” Suna said. “It’s not like I have another option.”

“Okay.” Osamu held the switch that flicked the umbrella open, hoping that the latch wouldn’t crush his fingers like it had last week. It had hurt for the rest of the day. “Open the door when yer ready, and I’ll open it.”

Suna yanked his own hood over his head until his hair was hidden. He zipped his sweatshirt up the rest of the way and went over to the double doors. “Got it?”

“Yeah.”

“ _ Now. _ ” 

Suna shoved one of the doors open, exposing himself to the storm of raindrops that pelted his face in an instant. Osamu was right behind him, flicking the switch until the umbrella popped open, and he held it up straight. Suna huddled in close, their arms practically intertwined, their legs pushed against each other. But Osamu’s guess had been right: they would get soaked. 

He could already feel the rain seeping into the bottom half of his sweatpants. His sneakers hit almost every puddle as they hurried along the path, and he kept his gaze fixed to the ground in order to keep the worst of the rain from hitting his face.

It was worse for Suna, who bent his head low to keep from rubbing against the top of the metal. He pushed himself closer and closer to Osamu as the rain became heavier, splashing against them. If Osamu wasn’t in such a hurry to get home, he might’ve enjoyed the close proximity more. Suna was basically hugging him to stay as dry as possible. Their feet stepped on each other’s more than a few times, but neither said any apologies when it did happen. Their priority was getting inside as quickly as possible. 

“Go, go, go,” Suna hissed under his breath.

Osamu took a longer stride over a deep puddle. “I’m goin’ as fast as I can.”

“Faster,” Suna urged. 

When Osamu glanced up for a brief second, the outline of their building was visible in the distance. His head lowered again, and his legs moved with intention now, even as his clothes began to stick to his skin, the water soaked in. His sneakers were crusted with dirt as they avoided another collection of holes filled with rainwater. 

He turned his head to the side for the briefest of moments to watch Suna suck in a breath. Although only his face peeked out through the hood, droplets ran down his cheeks, and he looked just as uncomfortable as Osamu, his sweatshirt sticking to his upper half. Even so, he kept pace with Osamu, and the two of them reached the street before their dorm building.

The light needed to change before they could cross. For that minute, Osamu held the umbrella over Suna more as he noticed Suna start to shake in the cold, like a stray leaf hanging off its branch as fall transformed into winter. But when the light flashed blue, the pair rushed across and underneath the alcove over the side door. 

“Key card,” Osamu muttered, reaching for his bag. “Key card.”

“Got it.” Suna held his own ID in his hand and dragged it down the reader. Once the light flashed, he swung the door open for Osamu. 

Osamu darted inside, drawing the umbrella shut, but of course, the latch shut on his fingers, and he cried out in pain. He heard the door close behind him before Suna stamped his feet against the mat, his wet footprints staining the fabric. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.

Osamu held his hand up to the light. There wasn’t any blood, though the skin was torn. “I think I’m fine.”

“Cool.” Suna pulled down his hood, and all Osamu could do was stare. Although the rest of Suna’s clothes were soaked to the skin as much as Osamu’s, water droplets dripping down his face, the most surprising sight of all was the fact that his hair was completely wet, too. 

The usual strands that stuck out behind his ears fell along Suna’s chin. It made him look like a drowned cat. Osamu let out a loud laugh before he could restrain himself. 

“What?” Suna demanded. “What’s wrong?” 

Osamu pointed a finger at him while holding his sides. “Yer hair!” he screeched. “Ya look like a cat that’s been forced to take a bath! I  _ can’t _ —”

Suna scowled, which only made Osamu’s laughter even more uncontrollable. 

“Stop laughing,” Suna ordered. “It’s not funny.”

Osamu tried to shut his mouth, but giggles kept escaping every few seconds. He bent over, braced his hands on his knees, and tried to pull himself together. But whenever he lifted his head and saw Suna with a pinched expression, he lost it all over again.

“I’m sorry,” Osamu panted in one brief respite. “I can’t help it. Yer  _ face. _ ”

Suna scoffed, and for a second, the worry that he’d seriously offended Suna snuck in between all of his glee, and it shut down any more laughter from him in an instant. But when he straightened, all Suna did was knock his hand against the side of Osamu’s head.

“Thanks for the umbrella, Miya.” He started the trek up the stairs. “See you around.”

Osamu smiled at his retreating figure. “See ya, Suna.” 

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> loser stop studying for five minutes and join gin and i after my last class
> 
> we’re gonna play volleyball at the gym
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> ugh
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> bring my knee pads thanks
> 
> and my extra water bottle
> 
> and my phone charger
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> no.
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> see you in an hour and 15?
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> ugh

Despite his lack of enthusiasm in his one-word replies, Osamu knew that Atsumu would expect him. It wasn’t the worst idea to tear his focus away from his readings and spend an hour at the gym before his brain fell apart on him. Atsumu was good at that: he somehow managed to recognize the moments Osamu needed a break the most, and even if he couldn’t drag Osamu from his desk, he could provide enough brash commentary to calm Osamu’s nerves until he could think clearly again.

He even brought Atsumu’s knee pads, water bottle, and phone charger—because he was a  _ great  _ brother. 

Although he didn’t know Atsumu’s schedule by heart, he trekked across campus towards the concentration of science buildings at the right side, and when Atsumu shared his location, Osamu followed the directions to the large lecture hall split off from the grand laboratory structures. 

Atsumu’s class was let out then, a swarm of students dispersing out of the doors on either end, and Osamu hung back against the far wall in the hopes of catching a glimpse of that mop of blonde hair before losing Atsumu completely. Bodies pushed past him with half-hearted apologies mumbled in their wake, and it took a solid three minutes for the room to clear. A few students hung around to speak to the TAs and the professor, but Osamu spotted Atsumu by the exit of the lecture hall.

And he wasn’t alone.

Osamu sauntered over, Atsumu’s water bottle clutched in his right hand, and he took his time in sweeping his gaze across the student Atsumu was talking to. Osamu had never seen him before, but he had to be around their age. He stood a few centimeters taller than either twin, and his pile of black curls framed the side of his face perfectly. It wasn’t until he tilted his face to the side that Osamu noticed the two moles above his left eyebrow. 

Atsumu would probably kill him if he interrupted now. Which was exactly what Osamu did anyway.

“Hey,” Osamu said, cutting into the conversation. Ignoring the sharp glare from Atsumu, he held out the water bottle he’d been instructed to bring. “Here’s yer water. Find another delivery boy.”

“Why would I?” Atsumu took the water bottle. “I’ve got a perfectly good one right here.”

Osamu turned his head toward the third person in their group. He found the other student looking between them, as was often the case when the Miya twins stood next to each other, and anyone in the near vicinity tried to make sense of the phenomenon. 

“Miya,” he said. “I didn’t know you had a twin.”

“I try to pretend otherwise most days,” Atsumu muttered.

Osamu stuck his hand out. “Miya Osamu. Nice to meet ya.”

He was faintly surprised when a hand clasped his in return. “Sakusa Kiyoomi,” he said. It was impossible to tell what expression he wore beneath his mask, but his eyes suggested it was more amusement than anything else. 

“Osamu was just leaving,” Atsumu said, a clear warning in his voice.

“Don’t worry,” Sakusa said, more to Osamu. “I have to go. I have a class across campus in a half hour.” He lifted his arm to inspect the face of his watch. “I should get going. It was nice to meet you.” He headed in the direction of the exit. “See you around, Miya.”

It wasn’t until Sakusa’s head vanished beyond view that Atsumu snapped. 

“Seriously?” Atsumu demanded, his grip tightening around the plastic bottle. “Ya couldn’t just  _ wait _ ? All I needed was five minutes! I never get the chance to talk to Omi-kun. I barely see him at all.”

“Aren’t you two in the same class?”

“Yes, but he runs off as soon as we’re dismissed.”

“Mmm.” Osamu considered that for a moment. It seemed like his hunch was right: Atsumu had a crush of his own. As for whether Sakusa was out of Atsumu’s league, it was too soon to tell. At first glance, Sakusa seemed like the kind of person who’d be irritated by Atsumu’s antics, accustomed to his own habits and manner of doing things, but it didn’t look entirely  _ hopeless _ . 

Part of him wanted to smack Atsumu. He always did this. He gave his heart away far too easily, falling in love a little too quickly, and it drove Osamu to the edge trying to pick up all the pieces when whatever relationship Atsumu pursued crashed and burned. He didn’t know anything about Sakusa Kiyoomi, but he knew his brother. He’d known immediately upon witnessing how Atsumu looked at Sakusa: he was smitten.

“So he’s the person you keep party-hoppin’ in search of?” Osamu asked, the pieces falling into place.

Atsumu let out a resigned sigh. “Yeah.”

That created a larger timeline than Osamu expected. This had gone on for at least two months now. “Can’t ya just ask him out after class or somethin’?”

“ _ No _ ,” Atsumu cried out in indignation. “I can’t just do that! Omi-kun’s really particular. I don’t want to mess this up. If I ask him out, he’ll straight-up reject me. I want to hang out with him more in the hopes that he’ll like me on his own.”

“With yer personality?”

“Shut up, Samu! I know it prolly sounds stupid to ya, but I really like him.”

“So  _ ask him out.  _ Then you’ll get the chance to hang out with him. That’s what that  _ means. _ ”

Atsumu huffed and shoved past him, his shoulder slamming into Osamu’s. “Ya just don’t get it. Yer too focused on classes to think ‘bout anything else.”

Osamu followed Atsumu out of the exit, catching the door before it swung into his face. Atsumu barreled forward without seeing whether Osamu was following or not. Clearly, Osamu had touched a nerve. 

“Believe it or not, I get it,” Osamu said. “Ya like him. That’s fine. But do ya really think hopin’ that you’ll find him outside of class is the best method of gettin’ him to like ya back?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Atsumu stopped in his tracks, and Osamu nearly ran into him. “Especially not with you. Do ya have my knee pads and my phone charger?”

Osamu took the lead. “No.”

“Samu! I toldja to bring them!”

“Shut up, idiot. I have them. Stop makin’ a scene.”

“Oh.” Atsumu rushed to catch up. “Ya should’ve just said that.”

* * *

The characters had started to blur together on the page. No matter how hard Osamu focused, he found himself rereading the same passages over and over again in the hopes that he’d retain some information by the third or fourth reading. Even while chomping through a bag of chips, every part of him ached to stop and turn his attention toward something else for a while.

But he couldn’t. He needed to get this reading done for tomorrow, and if he left it for later, it would be impossible to concentrate once Atsumu returned back from the gym. There was no other option than to finish it now. 

So Osamu straightened in his seat, bent over the passage once more, and tried again. His notes only set a foundation for the reading, and his handwriting was sloppier than usual, but he didn’t have the patience to go back and fix it. So long as he had some idea of the main point of the passage, that was enough for him. That was enough to get through class discussions tomorrow. He’d focus on the rest later.

Osamu had moved onto the next page when a knock against the door broke through. He waited for a second in case it was Atsumu being a lazy shit and forcing Osamu to open the door because he didn’t feel like taking out his keys. But there was another knock, and this time, a voice accompanied it. A voice that was not Atsumu’s, but familiar all the same.

“Miya,” Suna called through the wall. “Let me in, asshole.”

He hadn’t seen Suna since their walk through the rain. It really was like their encounters became all the more special for their rarity, and every once in a while, luck turned its head, and Osamu crossed paths with Suna one more time. Although this time, Suna sought him out. 

Osamu kicked back from his desk and wandered over to the door. He swung it open with the flattest expression he could muster. On the other side, Suna was unfazed, waving with his phone in hand. If anything, he looked mildly inconvenienced, as if Osamu had troubled  _ him  _ by taking so long to answer.

“What’s up?” Osamu asked. He pushed his cap further down on his head. 

“I’m locked out,” Suna said, a simple explanation. “I went to the bathroom for five minutes, and I forgot my keys. I’ve already texted my roommate, but he won’t be back for another hour because he’s in class.”

There was a heavy hint in Suna’s tone, and it almost made Osamu shiver. Suna hadn’t been inside their dorm since that first day, and while it was considerably more organized since, the request still made him pause. It was one thing to have lunch with someone. It was another thing to invite them into your dorm room. When it came to shared double dorms, there was even less space than there would be if they rented an apartment. There was only one place to sit—besides the bed—and that was the chair at Osamu’s desk. No matter what Suna did, Osamu would feel claustrophobic.

Even then, with his mouth drying by the second, he stepped aside. “So ya wanna wait here?”

“It’s better than waiting out in the hall,” Suna said, sliding past. He made a beeline for Osamu’s bed, purposely stretching out over the mattress and lounging over it like he was hoping to annoy Osamu. He almost resembled a cat, turned onto his stomach as his feet dug into the corners where the bed frame met the mattress. He rested his chin on Osamu’s pillow and peered up at him, and Osamu had to resist the urge to make an embarrassing noise. “What are you up to?”

“I’m readin’,” Osamu said. He walked back over to his desk and took his seat again, though he doubted he’d get much work done with Suna in the room. His concentration was frayed, and his head already felt much better after not looking at small characters for hours straight. 

“ _ You’re  _ studying?” Suna twisted until his face was at the foot of the bed, exactly where Osamu’s desk was positioned. He leaned over the edge to peek at Osamu’s assigned readings. “Since when do you study?”

A furrow appeared between Osamu’s brows. If he asked Atsumu, Atsumu would complain that Osamu did nothing else  _ besides  _ studying. “I always study. What are ya talkin’ about?”

Suna blinked. “Oh.” 

He drew himself backwards, but the distance between them didn’t do much of a difference. Osamu recognized the difference in his accelerated heart rate. Being around Suna was difficult already, but Suna rolling around his duvet and prancing around his room made it worse. He’d have to lie there later. And he’d have to fall asleep even though it smelt like Suna. 

The two elapsed into a silence: Suna, because he started scrolling through his phone, and Osamu, because his mind blanked when it came to conversation starters. He didn’t know how to talk to Suna. He wasn’t the most talkative person already, but when he grew comfortable around another person, he could speak for hours on end. And yet, he didn’t mind sitting in silence either. But there had to be some level of familiarity with whoever his company was for that silence not to unnerve him. 

He believed that Suna wasn’t the most outgoing person either, regardless of the numerous public outings he’d followed Atsumu to. He looked like the kind of person who went out to observe rather than interact with others. 

Which meant that if Osamu wanted the silence to end, he’d have to be the one to break it. 

Osamu opened his mouth—

“Hey, did you want to go out tomorrow?” Suna asked, staring up at Osamu from his position upside-down.

A choked sound escaped Osamu’s throat. Go… _ out _ ? Go out  _ where _ ? In the end, his response was a garbled noise that resembled how he sounded while rinsing his mouth after brushing his teeth. 

“Was that a yes? Komori-kun is having a party at his place tomorrow. You had so much fun at the last one. Or maybe you don’t remember. You fell asleep on the couch around two.”

Osamu had no idea who this Komori person was. And he knew for certain that he’d never attended a party in his life. Atsumu had tried forcing him out several times over the years to no avail. It was the one aspect of his life that Osamu never budged on. 

But—this was the first time Suna had extended an invitation for them to hang out again so soon. Every other encounter they had happened by chance, and Osamu wished he could take his own advice:  _ ask the guy out _ . 

Even if he had to spend his evening crammed between sweaty bodies in someone’s tiny basement, even if he had to bear the deafening music and the piercing screams of conversations striving to be heard, even if he had to take half-hearted sips of warm beer—all of that seemed more bearable if he got to do that while looking at Suna. 

His tongue became limp in his mouth. “Maybe,” he said when Suna looked his way again. 

“Yeah?” Suna rolled over. “I’ll pick you up. We can walk over together.”

Whenever Suna gave him that earnest look of his, his eyebrows slightly lifted and his eyes piercing, Osamu understood that Suna could get away with anything. If Suna decided to rob him of his wallet right now, Osamu would let him. It was startling how much his attraction to this idiot that came and went as he pleased pushed him into more unfortunate situations. 

Atsumu had tried convincing him to go out for  _ years _ , yet all Suna had to do was ask and Osamu was two seconds away from shotgunning a beer in his eagerness. This sucked. Everything sucked. This would suck less if he could figure out Suna’s feelings toward him and determine whether he had a shot at all.

But…this invitation worked as a step forward. He’d never seen Suna for more than an hour at a time. Things could change over the course of an evening. 

“You’ll pick me up?” Osamu asked, licking his lips. 

“Yeah. Around eight. Is that cool?”

“And we’ll walk there?”

“Unless you’d rather prance?” One eyebrow went up higher than the other, and Osamu warmed under the scrutiny. “Are you okay, Miya?”

Osamu nodded, a little too eagerly. “I’m fine. Eight is great. Sounds great.”

Satisfied, Suna fell back into his covers, his attention returned to his phone. But Osamu could barely hold his pencil. It wasn’t a date, but it was close enough.

* * *

Suna appeared like the kind of person who viewed pre-arranged meetings as tentative times rather than exact dates. In other words, Osamu expected Suna to pick him up closer to eight-thirty, but true to his word, when the clock on his phone struck eight, there was a knock on his door. 

Atsumu was long gone, spending a night with Gin and Akagi playing video games rather than heading out as he’d done yesterday. Even Atsumu needed a break from time-to-time, and Osamu was grateful that it meant Atsumu wouldn’t be around to witness Osamu make an embarrassment of himself. He hadn’t even told Atsumu where he was going tonight; he hoped he’d be back before his brother, in order to pretend like he’d been home the entire time and avoid the inevitable interrogation. 

He snuck a look at the full-body mirror taped to the back of the door. He’d opted for something more presentable than his usual comfortable sweats. He’d dug out a pair of jeans from the bottom of his drawer and paired it with a gray crewneck. While he wasn’t Atsumu—who took pride in his appearance and strived to look his best even if his inner emotions didn’t reflect that—his current attire meant that he didn’t look like a  _ slob. _

It was a far cry from what he usually wore, and Osamu had spent an hour deliberating over his look before Suna had showed up. In the end, he finished his outfit off with his black cap pulled snug around his head, and he went to open the door. 

Suna waited on the other side. His nose was hidden beneath the collar of his zip-up hoodie, and his hands were hidden in his pockets. His eyes gleamed as if he’d already had a few drinks before stopping by, though his stance didn’t suggest that the alcohol had gone to his head. 

“Hiya, Suna,” Osamu greeted him. He patted his pockets to ensure he had his wallet, phone, and keys before shutting the door behind him. “You look nice.”

It was the stalest compliment that he could give, but it was neutral enough that it didn’t send Osamu into a panic over its delivery. He felt Suna’s gaze drag from head to toe until it rested on his face again. The intensity of it never wavered, and although the heat of it burned along Osamu’s skin, a certain excitement thrummed beneath the surface. This was the first time he and Suna had deliberately planned to meet up. It didn’t matter if Suna didn’t speak much now. There was a whole evening ahead of them. Osamu could pry words out later.

“Do I look like a slob?” Osamu asked.

Suna buried his face deeper into his collar. “I guess you clean up well.”

Osamu resisted the urge to let the thrill of this small victory show. “Thanks.”

With that, Suna twisted and strode down the hall, and the two of them began their descent down the staircase. Other than the occasional student brushing past on their way to the bathroom, the halls were vacant, and when they exited through the front door, nighttime was there to greet them. 

The sun had long since set, the moon bobbing overhead, and a faint breeze bit at Osamu’s exposed skin. A few scattered groups of students crossed their path, and each time they passed, Osamu moved closer to Suna. He could smell the beer in each huff of breath Suna made, but there was nothing but complete focus in his movements as he led the way to Komori’s house. His strides were assured and purposeful, and he never staggered once. 

The street lamps were lit against the darkness, and from above, the lights shone onto Suna’s profile. His hair looked darker at night mixed in with the shadows, but the directness in his stare never faltered once. It made him look all the more mesmerizing, and Osamu had to remind himself to stop staring in case Suna noticed. 

Silence elapsed between them, and neither of them chose to break it. Other than the occasional instruction whenever they needed to turn down a particular street or walk up a certain path, everything else was left unsaid. 

Osamu didn’t mind. There would be more than enough time over the course of the evening. Besides, there was something peaceful about it. Despite the chaos that lay ahead, he could bask in the calm that settled over him now. He treasured these moments—as fleeting as they were. For once, his brain stopped, and the mountain of coursework waiting for him back at his dorm became less of a burden. 

Fifteen minutes passed before they turned onto a street lined with small houses, reserved for large groups of students to share. Osamu could tell instantly which one was Komori’s. It stood at the end of the line, a battered structure like most of student housing. Yellow lights streamed out behind the closed curtains, music thrummed beneath the surface of the earth, and a small group of students sprawled across the front lawn, making conversation and sharing a joint between them. 

The calm that had washed over him disappeared, and Osamu tried to brace himself for whatever the evening would bring. 

“It’s just up here,” Suna said. 

His pace quickened, and Osamu hurried to catch up. 

* * *

Komori Motoya was an interesting character and not at all like Osamu had expected. He’d pictured someone more like Atsumu—the kind of person who was no work and all play—but Komori came across as the kind of person who understood limits and boundaries. He’d stopped by soon after they’d arrived to greet them before hurrying off to attend to his other guests.

The inside wasn’t as packed as Osamu had feared. He could slip past people without being elbowed or pushed aside, and the music wasn’t completely deafening. There were a few familiar faces from all the years of classes, but none were recognizable enough that Osamu was comfortable striking up a conversation. Suna received a lot of attention though, earning several greetings shouted across the room or half-hearted hugs. Osamu got a few pats on the shoulder as he followed Suna through the crowd too. 

It seemed like Komori’s parties followed an exclusive guest list. Everyone knew each other, and it made Osamu’s presence here all the more impossible. But he didn’t have the time to process that before Suna dragged him up the stairs and into one of the spare bedrooms.

Osamu caught sight of a banner hanging on the wall with the words ‘Memento Mori’ across the front before his attention was drawn towards the large table in the center. A large collection of red solo cups were arranged on top, sloshing with warm beer, and several people were already gathered around, cheering on the current game. 

Suna went to greet someone on the other side of the room, and Osamu leaned back against the wall. Though the music was muted upstairs, the noisy bickering more than made up for it, and the instinct to reach for his phone and seek out something familiar grew by the second.

“Miya?”

Osamu lifted his head.

Sakusa Kiyoomi stood a foot away, watching him with a frown. He didn’t look much different from the first time Osamu had met him. His black curls rested neat on his forehead, and he wore a bright yellow shirt paired with neon green sweatpants. 

How ironic, Osamu thought. Atsumu spent the better part of two months searching for Sakusa outside of class, hopping from party to party, and Osamu had stumbled upon him by chance during his first night out. It felt too much like a cruel joke. 

“Osamu,” Osamu said, a simple explanation. It took a second for understanding to settle across Sakusa’s features, and his shoulders relaxed. “Sorry I’m not the Miya yer lookin’ for.”

“Who said I was looking for your brother?”

Osamu flashed him a quick grin. “Ya didn’t hafta.” He paused. “What are ya doin’ here?”

“I live here.” Sakusa dug his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Komori’s my cousin. He hosts on occasion. Not more than once a month though. The clean-up after is tedious, and I always wind up having to pitch in.”

Osamu tucked that piece of information away in the back of his mind. He could use it to soften the blow when Atsumu realized where he had gone tonight. 

A silence elapsed over them, their conversation hitting an inevitable end, and Osamu searched for Suna across the room—only to find Suna was already watching him with an unreadable expression. The intensity of his stare was strong even with the distance between them, and in the end, Osamu was the one to break eye contact first.

He returned his attention to Sakusa. “Atsumu isn’t here. He’s playin’ video games with some friends tonight.”

That scowl from before returned. “I don’t care.”

Osamu didn’t consider himself a meddler. He believed that, when it came to their respective love lives, Atsumu could manage himself. Atsumu’s interests were his business, and Osamu didn’t need to get involved. But the way Sakusa spoke about Atsumu when he wasn’t there to witness it made Osamu sense that this little infatuation wasn’t as one-sided as it had looked at first glance. 

He didn’t need to meddle. But he believed that Atsumu deserved his own splash of happiness. 

“Yeah, ya do,” Osamu said. “If ya want to get to know him, why don’t ya talk to him? You already know he’s interested in ya.”

Sakusa’s scowl deepened further. “I—huh?”

“Lemme give ya his number, and ya can text him. Or you can give me yers. If yer interested. If not—that’s fine too.”

“Ugh, fine,” Sakusa snarled before pulling out his phone. “Give me his number, and I’ll text him tonight.”

Osamu recited Atsumu’s cell phone number and confirmed it once when Sakusa flashed him the screen. Sakusa scurried out of the room after that, shooting Osamu a dirty look, as if he’d realized that—despite first appearances—Osamu was as much of a shit-stirrer as Atsumu. 

Osamu took out his own phone to gloat about his own victory.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> you’re welcome
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> for what
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> you’ll see
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> O_o

A mixture of loud complaints and cheers drew his attention away from the screen, and he looked up to find Suna heading his way in purposeful strides, his steps assured. He caught Osamu by the elbow and flashed him that mischievous grin of his—the one that Osamu was powerless against. 

“Do you want to be my partner?”

Osamu’s brain short circuited, and his eyes bulged as he struggled to process the meaning behind the word ‘partner.’

“For beer pong?” Suna clarified when Osamu didn’t respond.

Osamu swallowed, the motion thick and heavy. “Sure.”

Osamu had played beer pong before, though it had been some time. While he remembered proving decent at it, his skills could’ve become atrocious since then. He remembered the motions and the rules well enough, and with Suna giving him that  _ look _ , he was helpless, and Suna dragged him over to one end of the table.

The cups had already been arranged back into neat triangles, the beer mopped up on the table from the previous match, and at the other end of the table, another pair of students waited to challenge them. The shorter of the two had white hair that stood up straight on his head, and his eyes carried a competitive energy that surpassed his teammate’s. His companion was easily the tallest person in the room, and his warm brown hair tickled his eyelashes as he straightened. 

“Hoshiumi-kun”—Suna pointed at the shorter of the two—“and Hirugami-kun.” His hand gripped Osamu’s shoulder, and his entire body became electrified by that simple touch. “This is Miya.”

“Hey,” Hirugami murmured. 

Osamu lifted his hand in a slight wave. 

“Can we get started now?” Hoshiumi bounced on the balls of his feet. He unveiled a ping-pong ball and tossed it to Suna, who caught it one-handed. “You can go first since we won the last match.”

“Whatever.” Suna picked out another ping-pong ball stuck between two of the extra cups and dropped it into Osamu’s open palm. “You go first. Don’t miss.”

Osamu scowled on instinct. His brain was already focused on  _ not _ missing; Suna’s reminder psyched him out more. The music downstairs faded into the background as Osamu let his full focus fall on the cups in front of him. He lifted his arm up, miming a few swings while assessing the necessary power and arc, and with the ball pinched between his grip, he let it go.

It flew forward in a high arc, hitting the rim of one of the cups in the second row, and it dropped inside with a  _ plop. _

Osamu’s scowl transformed into a beam. He still had it. As long as he didn’t let the pressure get to him, he could land it on the other side. Meanwhile, the other three surrounding the table gaped at the cup.

“ _ What _ ?” Hoshiumi demanded. He braced his palms on the surface of the table and peered forward to confirm that the ball had landed into the beer. “How did you do that? On your first try?”

Hirugami squinted. “Hm.”

Beside him, Suna was practically vibrating. His hand gripped Osamu’s elbow again, and Osamu tried to keep his breathing steady as Suna met his eyes with a beam of his own. It was the widest smile he’d ever seen on Suna, and it made him light-headed.

“When did you get good at beer pong?” Suna demanded. “You were awful the last time we played!”

Osamu tried not to let his confusion show. He’d never played beer pong with Suna. He was sure he’d remember that. This was his first time ever being dragged out to a party. If he and Suna had partnered up before, he’d be able to recall it. Right?

But the smile on Suna’s face convinced him not to bring it up. If he knew that all he needed to do to have Suna’s full attention on him was this, he would’ve invited Suna out a long time ago. 

The praise didn’t cease as Osamu’s aim grew even more impeccable. He had scored more than Suna, but that was forgivable considering that Suna’s mind was hazy with alcohol. Even then, Suna managed to score them a few points. Even if his aim wasn’t perfect, he knew the exact power level needed, and he showcased a competitiveness of his own. 

As the game went on, Osamu had a few mouthfuls of beer himself, but it didn’t impair his abilities as Hoshiumi and Hirugami hoped. He still sunk the ball in one after the other, and the afterglow of victory never left him as he smacked his hands against Suna’s in a high ten. 

* * *

People trickled out of the house in a slow and steady stream as the hours went by, the minutes ticking closer to two in the morning. It was much later than Osamu was accustomed to being awake at, and his eyelids drooped even without the haze induced by alcohol. Suna was in a worse state: despite his best efforts to remain sure-footed and alert, his slouch grew over time, and he threw himself down outside on Komori’s wooden porch, an arm thrown over his eyes as he tried to clear his head. 

They were among the last hanging around Komori’s as the early hours crept up on them, and exhaustion started to hang over them. Osamu felt it seeping into his bones as he imagined a dreamless sleep between his covers tonight. He hadn’t drunk enough for a hangover, but he deserved a lazy morning in tomorrow anyway. Even if he didn’t exactly have the time carved out in his hectic schedule for it, he’d find the time. 

He was already screwed anyway. He’d received a text from Atsumu around eleven that said: “WHAT THE FUCK” before another came in around one that said: “dude, where tf are you?” Osamu had sent back a simple response promising that he’d return home and not to wait up for him, but judging by the series of question marks Atsumu sent in reply, there was a conversation to be had. 

Osamu dropped his phone into his pocket and returned his attention to Suna, who hadn’t moved since lying flat along the porch. His chest rose in a calming rhythm, so Osamu knew he was awake and alright—for the most part.

“Does he need water?” Komori asked, joining Osamu by the door. “He didn’t drive here, did he?”

“Nah, we walked,” Osamu said, his gaze still on Suna. “I think he’ll be fine. I made him drink some water a half hour ago, so he’s not too bad. I’ll make sure he gets home safely.”

“Right.” Komori nodded. “You two live in the same building, don’t you?”

“Yup. Same floor, too.” Although now that he was thinking about it, he didn’t know which room belonged to Suna. He hoped Suna would be coherent enough to point it out, otherwise they were screwed. 

“Sounds good.” Komori took a step further into the house. “I think he left his phone in the kitchen.”

That reminded Osamu: he’d watched Suna put it down for a second to charge it when the battery had died. Komori was a godsend. “Right,” Osamu said, following Komori into the kitchen. “Thanks.”

It was right where Suna had left it, propped up against the toaster. Osamu unplugged it and stuck it in his other pocket. 

“You’ve got everything?” Komori confirmed. Osamu decided he liked Komori. He was a courteous host. 

“Yeah, we should be good.” Osamu started to backtrack in the direction of the front door. He hadn’t seen Sakusa since they’d run into each other upstairs, but if he had to bet, Sakusa was holed up in his bedroom, fast asleep. That was fine. He had a feeling he’d see a lot more of Sakusa from now on. “Thanks again. It was a fun night.”

“You know you’re always welcome, Atsumu.”

The use of his brother’s name made Osamu pause, and he whipped his head around. “I’m not Atsumu,” he said, scratching at the top of his head. He should’ve been used to the constant confusion, but each time, the process of having to explain it over again was mind-numbing. “I’m Osamu, his twin.”

Komori blinked. “What?” Another blink. “Atsumu has a twin?”

“Yeah,” Osamu said with a sheepish expression. “Sorry. This happens a lot more than ya would think.”

“You’re completely identical,” Komori said, a hint of disbelief coloring his words. “I never would’ve guessed.”

“I like to think we’re different personality-wise,” Osamu said. He hoped so, anyway. He wouldn’t like to come across as irritating as Atsumu. “Uh, ya can tell us apart by the hair. Atsumu dyes his.”

Komori’s gaze rose to the cap sitting on Osamu’s head. “Ah, okay. That makes sense.” He let out a quick chuckle. “Sorry about that.”

Osamu shrugged. It happened all the time. If he got bent out of shape each incident, he’d lose all of his patience. Besides, it was obvious Komori had good intentions. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Osamu returned outside to the porch. Suna remained unmoving, but it was time to go. Osamu wandered over to him and crouched low to the ground. He felt Komori’s presence behind him, but he didn’t let that stop him as he poked Suna in the shoulder.

“Suna,” he murmured. “Time to go.”

“No,” came Suna’s instant reply. “Let me sleep.”

“You can sleep at home.”

“I can barely walk straight. I’m not moving.”

“There’s the sofa,” Komori piped up, as generous as ever. “But Hoshiumi-kun’s already called it.”

“Never mind.” Suna sat up so quickly that his eyes widened while he tried to readjust to the sudden rush of blood to his brain. He peered up at Osamu with a lazy smile that made Osamu light-headed in his own way. “Can you carry me? I don’t want to walk. I’m tired.”

“Lazy shit,” Osamu muttered, but he was in so deep that he obliged Suna. He turned in place so that his back faced Suna, and he pushed himself as low as he could, the muscles in his legs aching. “Climb on.”

“Really?” Osamu didn’t need to look at him to know that he was staring in wonder, his lips parted. Suna looked at him like that a lot, as if he was constantly surprised by Osamu’s small acts of kindness and consideration. 

“Yes.” Osamu could do this. He’d carried Atsumu on his back a few times, although those instances had happened without his agreement. Suna was taller, but lighter. It would work. He could still walk steadily, even after the beer he’d drunk throughout the evening. He was confident he could lug Suna on his back for the fifteen-minute walk, even if it stretched out longer due to the additional weight. “Get on before I change my mind.”

“Okay,” Suna murmured. His arms wound around Osamu’s neck, his hands clasping together in a tight grip. His legs wrapped around Osamu’s waist next, and as Osamu straightened with a grunt, Osamu’s hands gripped Suna beneath his thighs to ensure Suna wouldn’t slip, even if he dozed off halfway through. “Got it.”

“I gotcha,” Osamu said. 

Komori watched on with a look crafted with consideration. He nodded once it looked like the two of them stood straight and steady, and he offered them a final wave. “Have a good night.”

“You too, Komori,” Suna called out. 

Osamu eased down the steps of the porch and followed the path down to the sidewalk. Suna’s weight wasn’t the heaviest burden, but it was cautious of each stride he took, and the manner in which Suna shifted against his back. He squinted as he reached the end of the street. He hadn’t been paying much attention on the walk here. Suna had been leading the way. 

“Which way, Suna?” Osamu jostled him once to rouse him, and Suna peeled his head up to inspect the scene before him. 

“That way,” Suna mumbled, jerking his chin down the right street. Osamu started down the sidewalk, only to jolt when Suna’s nose nuzzled the nape of his neck. “Mmm.”

“Suna?”

“You smell nice,” Suna mumbled. His breath was crackly as he smacked his lips, his throat aching for hydration. “Do I need to keep reminding you where our dorm is—or can I fall asleep?”

“ _ Don’t  _ fall asleep,” Osamu warned. He could manage Suna now, but if he became dead weight, one of them was bound to wind up injured. “I’m goin’ as fast as I can. Be patient. I don’t know how to get home.”

“Mmm,” Suna hummed. His nose tickled the hairs on the back of Osamu’s neck, and Osamu resisted the urge to yelp. Instead, he readjusted his grip on Suna, but Suna was unfazed. “How was your night then?”

“My night?” Truthfully, he’d worried it would turn out worse. He’d imagined a catastrophic series of events that led to Suna ditching him with the realization that Osamu’s company was not worth his time. Instead, he’d enjoyed himself and the company he’d shared over the evening. He didn’t imagine himself becoming like Atsumu, going out most weekends and abandoning his coursework, but perhaps he could unwind every once in a while. As Atsumu said, the books would be there when he returned. “It was…nice.”

“Nice, huh?”

“How was yers?”

Suna considered that for a moment. “It was nice,” he declared. His forehead rested against Osamu’s neck. “Confusing, but nice.”

“Confusin’? Confusin’, how?”

Suna fell into a silence then that lasted long enough that Osamu worried that he’d drifted off. 

“Suna?” Osamu asked, turning his head. 

“’M fine,” Suna mumbled. “I don’t know.”

“Are ya feelin’ sick?” Maybe that was what was happening. If Suna needed to throw up, Osamu would rather it happen on the side of the road. Or inside a nearby trash can. But Suna had looked fine, all things considered, when they’d departed from Komori’s. “Does yer head hurt?”

“I’m fine, Miya.” Suna steeled himself with a sharp breath. “Just fine. Take the right.”

Osamu had reached the corner and turned right as Suna had instructed. By now, Suna’s weight was starting to get to him. His knees protested with each stride, and his back cried out as he forced himself forward another step. Admittedly, even with all of those times he and Atsumu had given each other piggy-back rides, it had never been for longer than five minutes at a time. This was a  _ fifteen-minute walk _ . 

Osamu gritted his teeth and kept moving. If he stopped, the pain of having to resume would hurt more. He could make it. To his credit, Suna seemed to have realized the toll this was taking on Osamu, and he tried shifting. 

“It’s fine, Suna,” Osamu said. It wasn’t his fault. Rather, Osamu felt like he should’ve joined Atsumu for a few more gym sessions. This was on him.

“Sorry,” Suna mumbled. “I can walk. You can put me down.”

“It’s fine.”

The sidewalks were abandoned now, and the quiet of the hours after midnight were reserved for them. The street lamps guided the way home, and Osamu kept moving forward, even as Suna buried his face into Osamu’s neck, and his heart clenched even more. He focused on the reliable clomp of his sneakers against the concrete, and his breaths came easy and stable. He could do this.

The outline of their building grew visible in the distance, and Osamu resisted the urge to sprint the rest of the way. That would  _ surely  _ make Suna hurl, and he’d nearly lost all sensation in his legs anyway. If he hadn’t already resigned himself to a late morning in, he would’ve done so by now. 

“Almost there,” Osamu said for both of them. Suna peeled his face away from Osamu’s neck to hum in confirmation. “Just a little more, Suna.”

“Thank you,” Suna said, his head lolling again. 

The rest of the walk developed into something far more bearable with the finish line in sight. After a few minutes, Osamu reached the steps leading up to their building, and he deposited Suna on the lowest one before cracking his back. 

“Yikes,” Suna commented at the noise his bones made. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Osamu said, waving him off. It was nothing. He’d done it because he’d wanted to—not because he expected Suna to repay him. “How are ya feelin’?”

“Better.” Suna tilted his head toward the sky, his eyelids fluttering shut. “The outside air makes it better. I could sleep for hours.”

Osamu let out a low chuckle before pulling Suna’s phone out of his pocket. He handed it over. “Here ya go. Before I forget.”

Suna looked down at it for a second, confused. Then the realization hit him, and he dropped it into his own pocket. “Thanks,” he said. “Shit, I totally forgot about it.”

“No worries,” Osamu said. 

He braced his hands on his hips, his gaze sweeping along the sidewalk. There was no reason for them to stay outside, not when there were two beds waiting for them indoors. But Osamu wanted to make the night last a little longer, especially when there was no definite point at which he’d see Suna again. 

Was it his turn to invite Suna out? Was that how this worked? He never went out anywhere. He didn’t have any connections or a tight social circle. Maybe Suna would join him, Atsumu, and Gin to play volleyball sometime. Or was that lame? 

He looked back at Suna to find him already watching Osamu. Even with the alcohol running through his system, the intensity of his stare never lessened, and Osamu found himself shrinking beneath its strength as he offered Suna a shaky smile. 

“What’s up, Suna?”

“I’m confused.” A furrow appeared between his eyebrows, and Osamu wanted nothing more than to smoothen it out. Suna looked far more approachable this way, all cute and flustered. It distracted Osamu so much that he almost didn’t catch the rest of what Suna had to say. “You’re confusing me.”

“Huh?” Osamu cocked his head. “How am I confusin’ ya?”

“ _ Because _ ,” Suna started, before the rest of his sentence trailed off. He wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled them against his chest. As if he wanted to make himself appear smaller. “Because you’re weird.”

“I’m—weird?” That was not what you wanted your long-time crush to say about you. It was like Suna had taken a knife and swiped it across Osamu’s chest. 

“You’re weird,” Suna continued, “because I used to just find you irritating and loud, but now, you do all of these strangely nice and considerate things—like walking me home in the rain or carrying me back from Komori’s even though it was clearly a lot for you.”

That was an unexpected snipe at Osamu’s pride. “I’m not  _ that  _ weak—”

“And you like Sakusa. I know you like Sakusa, because you’ve told me that so many times.” Osamu’s head spun. But Suna went on, “And I even saw you give him your number tonight, but I can’t help it. Sometimes, I feel like we’re just friends, and I’m fine with that, but then other times, it’s like you’re a completely different person and I think I’m falling for you—”

Osamu felt as though he’d been punched in the chest. “I—”

“And I  _ know  _ you don’t return my feelings, so it sucks. That’s why I’m confused.”

“What?  _ What _ ?” Osamu couldn’t wrap his mind around the words coming out of Suna’s mouth. Him and  _ Sakusa _ ? He supposed he could understand why Suna had jumped to the conclusion that he’d given Sakusa  _ his  _ number instead of Atsumu’s, but this was a clear case of a misunderstanding. Osamu liked  _ Suna.  _ He’d done all of those considerate things because he liked Suna as a person—even if his feelings had no chance of being reciprocated. “Yer fallin’ for me?”

“Don’t laugh,” Suna ordered, his voice piercing the thick air that had settled between them. “I know, I’m being stupid. You like someone else. We barely hang out as it is. I’m the dumbass here.”

No, he wasn’t. Because as the pieces started falling into place, and a realization Osamu wasn’t ready to come to terms to set in, he was starting to understand that he might’ve overlooked some questionable things that had been said all because he’d been blinded by Suna. 

“Suna, I think—”

Suna grabbed a fistful of Osamu’s crewneck and pulled him close. When his mouth pressed against Osamu’s, it met in a wet and sloppy kiss that made Osamu’s heart jump into his throat. The taste of beer lingered on Suna’s tongue, but Osamu found that he didn’t mind as he softened into Suna, letting out a content noise of appreciation. It wasn’t the best kiss that he’d ever had, but it was the most emotionally charged, which made it special in its own way. 

But as quickly as it had started, it ended. Suna released him with wide eyes. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, sounding more unsure of himself than he had the entire night. He stumbled to his feet, nearly tripping over himself, and Osamu reached out a hand to steady him reflexively. It stung when Suna avoided him. “I shouldn’t have— Sorry. Sorry, Miya.”

Before Osamu could stop him—or even begin to explain the tangled mess the two of them were in—Suna darted up the steps and disappeared into the building, leaving Osamu out in the cold with his heart on his sleeve. 

* * *

The next week felt like an eternity. It dragged on, worsened by the additional workload he had due to avoiding his required readings over the weekend and the obnoxious smile permanently painted on Atsumu’s face as he cooed over his long text conversations with Sakusa. Meanwhile, there had been no contact from Suna, and Osamu understood there was a conversation to be had between them. He’d lied awake in bed for hours with Atsumu’s snores filling his ears, replaying every interaction the two of them had shared.

Suna had always called him Miya. How had he missed that? He’d never referred to him by his given name. Osamu rarely went by their family name because of the inevitable confusion that arose when both twins were in the same area, but he’d been so blindsided that he hadn’t questioned it further. 

He and Atsumu had never hung out with Suna at the same time. It had always been one or the other, and now, Osamu believed that each reference to an earlier exchange that he couldn’t recall had to be because he hadn’t  _ been there _ . It had been Atsumu, though Suna hadn’t known that. Suna—much like many other students at Inarizaki University—had no idea that they were twins. 

Osamu wanted to curse his own stupidity. He’d run into this problem several times—often on a weekly basis—yet he hadn’t connected the dots when it mattered most. Of course Suna was confused. He’d been under the impression that he was hanging out with Atsumu. Atsumu—who did like Sakusa. But it had been Osamu—who most definitely liked Suna. This was a tangled web so twisted that he didn’t know where to begin unraveling it. 

Everything that had felt weird about their initial conversations became much clearer in Osamu’s mind. Of course Suna had poked fun at him and teased. Osamu teased Atsumu in the same manner all the time. 

He didn’t have Suna’s number, and neither did Atsumu. (“I toldja, I only ever see him when I’m drunk off my ass. I don’t have his number.”) Other than pure chance, there was no way of reaching out. It was an unfortunate and pitiful situation to be in.

With a groan, Osamu slammed his laptop shut. Atsumu’s head shot up for a brief second at the sudden noise, but it dropped back onto his pillow a second later. Brushing past, Osamu undressed in the privacy of their closet and pulled on his bathrobe. He switched his socks for shower sandals and grabbed the plastic bag that held all of his toiletries. In his free hand, he twisted the keys to their room in case Atsumu went out and forgot to leave the door unlocked—which had happened more times than he’d like to admit. 

“Goin’ to shower,” Osamu said. 

“I don’t care where ya go,” Atsumu said. 

Rolling his eyes, Osamu let himself out of their dorm and walked down the hall to where the bathroom was. Kita’s door was open a crack, and as he passed, he noticed Kita sitting at his desk, the screen of his laptop bright. His sandals slapped against the tiled floor as he walked into the bathroom and opened the next door into the separated showers. 

The slap of his sandals became exponentially louder as he stepped across the puddles created from the numerous students that came and went throughout the day. It was almost enough to distract him from the other person in the room, who had clearly just finished their shower and wrapped a towel around themselves, but when Osamu turned his head, he did a double-take.

“Suna?” he said in disbelief. 

Suna paused in the middle of picking up his own portable caddy. He straightened, and his wet hair stuck against his ears with the motion. His own eyes were wide, as if he couldn’t fathom what Osamu was doing here. “Miya,” he began, before his eyes narrowed. He pointed at Osamu’s head. “What did you do with your hair?”

It was instinct for panic to set in as Osamu reached for his head with his free hand. “What do ya mean? What’s wrong with my hair?”

“What do you  _ mean _ ?” Suna’s finger jabbed at him a few times. “It was  _ blonde _ . When did you change it?”

“Oh.” Osamu’s shoulders relaxed as he dropped his arm back to his side. Right. Suna still didn’t know. He might’ve come to the correct conclusion, but Suna deserved an explanation. “My hair has always been dark brown. Atsumu’s hair is blonde. I used to dye it, too, in high school, but I’ve stopped in college.”

Suna blinked. A few times. Osamu watched a droplet of water run from the dip of his neck down his stomach to where it disappeared beneath his towel, and it took everything he had to keep it together. 

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Osamu said, knowing that this was putting it lightly. “I’m Osamu. Miya Osamu. Uh, I think that ya have hung out with my brother. My twin. Atsumu. And I think you’ve been under the impression that I’m Atsumu. Which is…uh, incorrect.”

Suna continued blinking to the point that Osamu felt on edge. As Suna continued to remain quiet, it strengthened Osamu’s urge to explain further, and he could feel himself starting to slip into a hole of embarrassment. 

“Uh,” Osamu said, his tongue heavy inside his mouth, “I know this is prolly really confusin’ for ya, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, but I really liked hangin’ out with ya, so I didn’t really notice…”

“Osamu,” Suna murmured after the brief lull in Osamu’s rambling. “Your name is Osamu.”

It was the first time Suna had used his given name. He tried not to let his excitement over it show. “Yeah.”

“How many times have we hung out together?”

His forehead scrunched as he counted it out in his head. Honestly, it wasn’t a large number, but he wanted to make sure it was correct. “Five times now, I think. Not includin’ this.” Because this didn’t count. This was the tensest confrontation of his life. 

“How did I not notice?” Suna waved a hand over his head, and it looked more comical now that he looked like a drowned cat again—just as he had when they’d walked home in the rain together. “Your hair—”

“I wear a hat most of the time.” Osamu should’ve stopped doing that. It created unnecessary confusion, but he was attached to it. “Sorry.”

Suna’s gaze dropped to the slit in his robe that exposed his bare chest. His entire torso warmed as a result. “So I kissed you. Not Atsumu.”

Osamu’s voice was no more than a whisper. “Correct.” He paused, feeling like he needed to plead his case, feeling like he needed to say something more, because he didn’t like the uncertainty etched into Suna’s features, and he wanted to remedy that. “I—”

The door creaked open, and both of their heads swung as another student hobbled inside. He hesitated briefly due to the pause in the conversation before continuing to select the shower in the far corner, organizing himself before turning on the running water. 

When Osamu returned his attention to Suna, Suna had already picked up his caddy and aimed for the exit. Osamu felt helpless as he watched him leave, the door swinging shut in his wake, but it wasn’t his call. It was up to Suna and whether he believed that Osamu was worth sticking around for. 

* * *

The drop in his already terrible mood must’ve been evident when he returned from his shower because Atsumu hauled him away from his desk and forced him to join him in the dining hall. The two of them got identical bowls of vegetable soup—because soup was one of the only safe meals to have—and they settled down at the end of one of the long tables. 

Osamu took half-hearted sips, the warm liquid burning its way down his throat, but it was better than having to see Atsumu’s concern or think about the fact that he’d had one chance to explain and fix things with Suna—and he’d royally screwed it up. 

The rest of the dining hall was deserted, with a stray student here and there with their materials splayed out in front of them as they ate. A few employees hustled back and forth to refill some of the empty trays, but other than the clanking of metal pots and pans, it created a peaceful atmosphere before the dinner rush. It was almost enough to make him forget. 

Until Atsumu had to break him out of his temporary serenity. “Okay,” he started, “what’s wrong?”

Osamu scowled on instinct. The reminder that something was  _ wrong  _ made him recall the incident in the shower rooms all over again. Every single misstep he took was on full display as he debated which parts he could’ve eased into better. “Nothin’.”

“It doesn’t look like nothin’,” Atsumu pointed out. “C’mon. Just tell me. It’s buggin’ ya that much, ain’t it?”

Osamu set his bowl back down on the table. Atsumu had been strangely considerate ever since Osamu had given Sakusa his phone number. In other circumstances, he might’ve been more peeved that Osamu had meddled, but considering the positive outcome, he’d been willing to let it slide. What had surprised Osamu more was that he hadn’t made a fuss over Osamu going out to an actual social event with actual human beings. He’d merely smiled, as if this revelation made him just as happy. 

Osamu exhaled through his nostrils. “It’s Suna.”

Atsumu tilted his head to the side. “Okay. What ‘bout Suna?”

“Ya know how I’ve been hangin’ out with him sometimes. I went to the party with him.”

“Yeah.” Atsumu acknowledged this with a nod. “I’m still bummed that Suna didn’t invite me too.”

“That’s the  _ thing. _ ” It hurt even more saying it out loud, because he knew it was the truth now. His own stupidity was staggering. “He did invite ya. ‘Cause he thought I was you. This entire time.”

Atsumu gaped, and his bowl slipped from his grip, landing onto the table with a clatter. The soup sloshed around inside, but other than a few stray droplets, none of it spilled. “ _ What _ ?”

“You heard me.”

“So all those times—”

“Yes.”

“—and that day—”

“Yes.”

“—and last week—”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“—he thought you were me.” Atsumu’s bottom lip pushed out. “And ya didn’t realize it at all?”

Osamu’s scowl returned. He grabbed a few napkins to dry up the droplets clinging to the surface of the table after Atsumu’s accidental spillage. “No, I didn’t  _ notice _ . Yeah, he might’ve said some weird things, but I liked him, so—”

“Wait.” Atsumu held up a hand, looking positively beside himself with glee. “Ya like Suna?”

“Do you?” a new voice broke in, and both of them twisted in place to find Suna hovering a foot away, blinking rapidly. His hair had been towel-dried in the hour since Osamu had last seen him, and he’d slipped into his usual attire of comfortable sweats before coming down to the dining hall. Even though his casual look wasn’t anything to gawk at, Osamu’s heart skipped in his chest. “Like me, I mean?”

Osamu’s mouth hung open, and any response he might have had melted on his tongue. It was like his brain couldn’t process the fact that Suna was standing right in front of him, even though he would have given anything to have another chance to explain a few minutes ago. But there was a more pressing issue at hand: Suna had heard him admit his feelings.

It wasn’t his intention to confuse Suna further. The realization that one person had become two in his mind was hard to come to terms with, and he didn’t need to make it difficult by adding his own emotions into the mix. It was unfair and selfish of him. Suna deserved to reach out to Osamu on his own terms—at his own pace. But Osamu had unknowingly rushed the process, and his insides shriveled up inside with that knowledge.

Atsumu punched his shoulder. “ _ Osamu.  _ Say somethin’.”

A strangled noise left his throat, and for some reason, the corner of Suna’s lip quirked up. If Osamu didn’t know any better, he’d say Suna looked amused. But that didn’t correlate with the image of Suna he’d met an hour ago. 

When Osamu couldn’t find the words, Suna took it upon himself to break the tension in that easy way he did. He looked confident as he’d never had before, as if he knew the hold he had on Osamu. His gaze flitted between them. “So there really are two of you, huh?”

“There have always been two of us, idiot,” Atsumu said. 

“I wasn’t talking to you, brat.” 

Without waiting for an invitation, Suna slid into the seat beside Atsumu, nudging him aside until he sat in front of Osamu. Osamu fixed his gaze firmly on the inside of his soup bowl. 

“Atsumu, get lost. Take your food and eat somewhere else. I’d like to talk to your brother.”

Atsumu clutched his soup with both hands. “You’re such a bully. What if I don’t  _ want  _ to leave?”

Suna must have glared at him, because a moment later, Atsumu untangled his legs from the bench and scurried off, his bowl in his arms. He didn’t go far, but his absence left Osamu flailing on his own. 

“So,” Suna murmured when Osamu didn’t give him his immediate attention, “Osamu.”

Osamu made a noncommittal sound. 

Suna tapped his fingers along Osamu’s hand, and the small gesture shot tingles up his arm. Osamu tried to keep his hand flat against the table, even as Suna’s fingers danced along his knuckles. “Are you going to ignore me forever?”

Osamu grunted. He’d wanted a chance to explain, but now, his misery had multiplied. Suna was practically making fun of him now. Osamu had made himself vulnerable, and Suna wanted nothing to do with him. 

“Osamu,” Suna called, his voice softer. His hand moved up towards Osamu’s face, and Osamu stiffened as Suna ran his fingers through the dark tufts of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. “I like your natural hair. It looks nice.”

In an effort to save himself from further embarrassment, Osamu crossed his arms on the table and buried his face in them. Suna continued tugging at his hair, but at least he didn’t have to see how red his face was.

“Osamu,” Suna repeated. “Osamu, Osamu, Osamu.”

“What?” Osamu asked, his voice hoarse.

“I like your name. It’s nice. Osamu.”

“Yer makin’ fun of me.”

Suna’s hand stilled. “Huh?”

“Yer makin’ fun of me.”

“I am not,” Suna said, aghast. “Can you look at me for a second please?”

Reluctantly, Osamu tore his face out of his arms and lifted his head. Suna almost mirrored him, his forearms braced against the hard surface, but there was a light to his eyes that Osamu hadn’t seen since the party last week. He’d missed that shine. He wanted to look at Suna’s eyes reflected against the sky forever. 

“I’m not making fun of you,” Suna said. “I’m trying to ease the tension.”

“Yer not doin’ a great job.”

Suna laughed, and all Osamu could do was stare. Had Suna ever laughed like this in front of him before? This went beyond a mere chuckle or surprised huff. This was done without restraint. 

“Maybe not,” Suna allowed, shrugging. “I’m not great at dancing around the elephant in the room. I tend to point it out right away.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You do remember what I told you after you brought me home from Komori’s, right?”

If he was being honest with himself, the end to that night was a blur. He remembered the kiss, clear as day, and he recalled the devastation he felt when Suna had abandoned him outside soon after Osamu realized what was wrong, but the specifics didn’t come to mind. 

“I said I was confused,” Suna said. “Because at times, I thought of you as just a friend. But at other times, I was extremely attracted to you. Even though I thought you liked Sakusa.”

“Atsumu likes Sakusa.”

“Yeah, I  _ know.  _ I’ve put two and two together, believe it or not.” Suna rolled his eyes, but it looked more fond than anything else. “But everything makes sense now.”

Osamu doubted that. This had gone on too long for there not to be lingering confusion. “Are ya sure?”

“Yeah,” Suna said with a nod. “I thought I’d been falling for Atsumu—which is gross now that everything makes sense in my head—but the reality is that I was falling for you without even realizing it. Everything had gotten mixed up, but it’s all clear now.” His eyes crinkled. “You’re the one I like. Not your stinky brother. But we might’ve gotten off on a weird foot.”

It was like any breath he could have mustered escaped him. All he could do was nod mindlessly, even as his cheeks flushed and his chest tightened.  _ Suna likes me _ , he thought, the one thing he’d picked out clearly.  _ Suna likes me. _

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Suna cocked his head to the side. “There were so many instances where I was unnecessarily rude to you because I thought you were Atsumu.”

Osamu’s shoulders slumped. It was one thing to admit his feelings when he didn’t realize Suna was listening. It was another thing to say it directly with Suna’s eyes on him the entire time.

“I dunno,” he mumbled. “Uh…I thought you were cute. I didn’t want to say anythin’.”

Suna blinked. “So you let me taunt you and mock you…because you thought I was  _ cute _ ?”

“Yer makin’ fun of me again.”

“I’m not making fun of you, Osamu,” Suna insisted, amusement coating his words. He reached forward to bop Osamu on the nose. “You are a little dumb, but so am I. So it’s fine.”

Osamu wrinkled his nose. “I’m not dumb.”

“Mmm,” Suna hummed. “It’s okay. I think you’re pretty cute too.”

Osamu’s chin fell against his chest as his shoulders rose to his ears. His heart pounded loud and clear through his eardrums. “Oh.”

“Osamu,” Suna murmured, almost like he was singing it. “Osamu, Osamu, Osamu. You have such a nice name. I’m going to say it all the time now. I have a lot to make up for, considering I’ve called you Miya for months.”

“It is my name too,” Osamu mumbled, dropping his shoulders and lifting his head. 

He didn’t register how close Suna was until Suna dropped a kiss on his nose. It was nothing more than a peck, but it brushed away any worries or regrets Osamu had. 

“Osamu,” Suna said as he sat back in his seat, his mischievous grin back in full force. “Call me Rintarou.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> (1) as always, if you enjoyed this, please leave a comment or a kudos! your feedback really does mean the world to me.
> 
> (2) yes, sunaosa are stupid. they're stupid and in love and it's great.
> 
> (3) i'll be working on a sakuatsu one-shot next so [gestures vaguely] get excited.
> 
> (4) yes, i am sleep-deprived, and no, that's not the point. 
> 
> (5) if you would like to keep up with me and see all of my haikyuu-related shitposting, follow my [twitter](https://twitter.com/akaashikejis)


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